


Cursed Reality

by Lost_In_The_Muse



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Gen, Good Petunia Dursley, Illnesses, Not Canon Compliant, OC Self Insert, OC-Self-Insert!Petunia, Petunia is a Good Bro, Self-Indulgent, Self-Insert, Slytherin!Petunia, Unreliable Narrator, hospital trips, may or may not be pairings down the line, time travel technically, what's real? what's not? you have to figure that out
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-14
Updated: 2019-02-04
Packaged: 2019-10-09 19:07:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17412542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lost_In_The_Muse/pseuds/Lost_In_The_Muse
Summary: What to do? What to do? When you wake up as one of the most disliked characters in the Harry Potter Franchise? SI-OC-as-Petunia.





	1. Out of the Haze

There was a thick, unsavory haze clouding Dania’s eyes. She squinted, trying to see through the grey shroud of smoke.

Dania held up her hand in front of her face. At least she thought she did. Nothing in her field of view changed. She had no visual confirmation that she’d moved at all. 

And she was acutely aware that she couldn’t hear anything either. Nothing at all.

However, in her peripheral vision, Dania thought she could see some shadows flicker and dance, like desaturated flames. The movement captured her attention, and she whirled her head around to get a better look.

Nothing. Just the same grey haze.

She turned her head in the opposite direction. Nothing there too.

Dania felt numb.

She should be panicking more. Be worried. Scared out of her mind. But all she could feel was nothing.

She didn’t feel on edge like something was about to jump out at her from the shadows and attack her. Yet she couldn’t say that she was tranquil, nor did she hold any semblance of calm. Just on the borderline between caring and not caring about her unexplainable plunge into this haze.

What was she doing here anyway?

Dania tried to think back to the last thing she could remember. She raked, rummaged, kneaded her mind. Nothing. Dania couldn’t remember anything before the haze.

And she was having a hard time convincing herself that this was a cause for concern. All Dania wanted to do is lay down and sleep. 

That sounded nice. A peaceful, uninterrupted nap. How many of those had she had the last couple of days? Weeks? Months? Years?

She closed her eyes. The grey world turned black. Dania sunk into her subconscious like a skipping stone descending to the bottom of a lake.

She didn’t know how long she stayed like that. It could have been a couple of seconds, it could have been a couple of years. But suddenly-

Dania heard voices.

The muscle in her cheek twitches. Then she heaved her bleary eyes open.

She blinked once. Twice. Three times.

There were shapes. Moving through the swirls of fog.

It was something undeniably new out there, but for the life of her she couldn’t make out what.

Dania rubbed her eyes with the palms of her hands.

The shapes became clearer.

And Just like that, vibrant colors exploded to life in her vision. The fuzzy outlines of the odd shapes disappeared, replaced by crisp contours complete with rigged lines and smooth curves. The haze was gone.

Completely.

Dania was left standing in the middle of a living room. An ancient and outdated living room.

There was a small, boxy television in the corner with long bunny ear antennas stick out the top. A floral couch and a reclining chair were arranged around a single coffee table with a bouquet of an assortment of paper flowers stuck in a vase. Sky blue curtains that complimented the yellow and white striped wallpapers framed the large, rectangular window.

And there was a man in front of Dania. Down on one knee. Holding an open box with a ring nestled in it.

He silently stared up at Dania with a huge smile plastered on his face and a sparkle in his eye.

It took a moment before Dania connected the dots.

“...What…?” Dania croaked out. She felt a sharp pain in her chest. As if a woodpecker had decided that her heart was a perfect meal, and her ribcage was standing in its way.

The smile on the man’s face slipped for a fraction of a second before it returned at full force.

“Petunia Evans, would you do me the pleasure of marrying me?” The man said slowly as to ensure that Dania could hear every word he said.

Dania stared at him blankly. The man started to shift uncomfortably under her gaze.

“Vernon,” The name popped into Dania’s head out of nowhere. “I- I don’t…” she trailed off.

What. Was. Happening.

The smile on Vernon’s face disappeared entirely.

“I’m sorry- I can’t, I don’t know-” Dania didn’t know what was going on. She wanted to go back to the haze. The haze was quiet and warm. The outside world was loud and harsh. Why was this person proposing to her? Who was this person? Why did she know his name?

Dania was jerked out of her thoughts by a loud snap that echoed throughout the room.

Vernon shut the box and lowered his hand. He stayed there in a kneeling position. Glaring a hole in the carpet.

Dania felt herself freeze stiff. She couldn’t move.

“That’s it?” The man said, pouring venom into every breath. Dania took a step back. “THAT’S IT?!” Vernon roared, springing up to his feet. “AFTER EVERYTHING I’VE DONE FOR YOU, THIS IS HOW YOU REPAY ME?”

“Vernon, please,” Dania pleaded, although she really didn’t know why.

“No, Petunia!” He said, face twisting in anger. “I am done with this. I am done with you. I am done with all of you freaks!” he sneered.

Dania shrank back.

“I thought you were different! Different from all of the other girls! I Thought YOU were NORMAL, but NO! Vernon growled as he continued on his tirade, “You’re just as bad as your sister!” He spat.

Before Dania could open her mouth to say something or do anything, Vernon hurled the box into the vase of paper flowers. The glass shattered on impact, sending shards flying across the table and scattered onto the floor. 

The flowers themselves though were sprawled on the oak wood of the tabletop. A halo of  sprinkled glass surrounded them. The tiny, rigid pieces glistened in the light as the rays of the sun filtered through the only window of the room.

Dania stared at the mess. Her hand gripped her chest as if she was trying to keep her beating heart from falling out. In the back of her mind, she made a note to herself to dig out the vacuum from the broom closet in the kitchen and clean up the shards before someone got hurt.

“Goodbye Petunia,” Vernon snarled as he wrenched open the front door. “I hope you rot in hell like your freak of a family.”

The door slammed shut.

Dania was left standing all alone in the middle of the living room. Surrounded by shattered glass.

She balled the hand that rested on her chest, wrapping the beige fabric around her fingers.

What. The. Hell. Just. Happened.

Dania stood, inhaling and exhaling at an unhealthily rapid pace. Her blood beat through her veins like a herd of stampeding rhinos. Her vision tunneled, leaving white and grey static fluttering in her eyesight. 

She stared at the door that Vernon had just stormed through. Her legs wobbled underneath her weight as if she would crumble into an unresponsive heap on the floor if a slight breeze so much as jostled her flyaway hairs.

Something wet rolled down her cheek before dripping off of her chin.

She was crying.

Why was she crying?

She just escaped an abusive relationship.

He was her one true love, though. And now he was gone.

A shaky breath escaped Dania’s lips. Slowly, Dania lifted her free hand up and pressed the palm of her hand against the stone cold, wooden wall. She inched her hand forward, guiding her trembling form into the kitchen where she dug out a broom and a dustpan.

The glass shards weren’t going to clean themselves. That dumbass had the nerve to ruin her mother’s favorite vase.

But Dania could not bring herself to begin sweeping away the destruction that Vernon had left behind. She stood on the threshold between the kitchen and the living room with a straw broom in one hand and a worn out plastic dustpan in the other, poised and ready to clear out the remains of the vase.

The remains of their relationship.

Dania bit down on her lip hard enough to draw a sliver of blood.

Vernon was gone. She had messed up. She had messed up big time, and there was no way she was ever going to get back into the good graces of the one man who’d ever shown any interest in her.

Dania furrowed her eyebrows. But then again, did she really give a damn? She didn’t even know that human personification of a five-week-old burrito. And from what little Dania had seen of him, Dursley seemed like a downright asshole. How dare he propose to a woman he’d never met before and then destroy her living room.

That douche canoe.

That was a stupid thought, of course, Dania knew who Vernon was. He was the endearing junior executive who had come to work with a bouquet of flowers every Monday morning just for her. 

He was a perfectly ordinary man, she was a perfectly average woman. A perfect match. They were made for each other.

Dania repressed a snort. Yeah, right. Made for each other. Like oil and water.

But… she loved him.

No, She most certainly did not.

Dania felt a shiver run down her spine as if a phantom hand was sewing snowflakes into her back.

The broom and dustpan clattered to the ground.

“Who the hell are you?” The woman whispered in terror so quietly she could barely hear her own words.

That was the moment her legs finally gave out, and she crumpled to the floor like a discarded paper doll.

 

* * *

 

Mr. and Mrs. Evans returned to their home almost ten minutes later to find their daughter’s body strewn on the hardwood floors with a scattering of broken glass and lotus flowers surrounding her.

Mrs. Evans’s light and jovial mood after finishing her shopping disintegrated into hysteria as she threw her two heavy bags of groceries to the side and dropped down to her knees beside her daughter and did everything she could to try and rouse the young woman. A shroud of blurry tears formed around the older woman’s eyes.

The excited air that had followed Mr. Evans all the way home from the grocery store evaporated the moment he heard his wife screech in agony and saw his little girl laying on the ground completely unresponsive.

He raced to the landline and called for help.

 

* * *

****

Vernon Dursley glowered as he pulled his car to the side of the road to make room for an ambulance that went speeding in the opposite direction.

How dare Pe- that woman treat him like that.

After all of those dates, all of that money spent buying stupid girly things, all of the time Vernon had devoted to her when he could have spent it better at a bar or at a sporting event.

He’d even put aside the fact that her sister was a circus freak because that’s what good boyfriends do, they accept their girlfriends even if they’re from an unnatural family. 

And yet, none of that seemed to matter.

The ambulance passed, and Vernon steered the car back onto the road. He slammed on the gas pedal without bothering to ensure that he was going under the speed limit.

Then, in a fit of rage, he rammed his fist against the car horn, releasing a long, loud honk as he drove past rows and rows of identical houses.

Vernon thought he’d done everything right. He had everything prepared.

He asked the parents first if he could marry their daughter, and his request was met with happy smiles and laughs. He thought up of the perfect place to propose to her, the sitting room of her childhood home in Cokeworth. Vernon thought it was rather clever to do it there.

He called Mr. and Mrs. Evans in advance to get Petunia to take a few days off from work to come home. He then drove to the house himself and arrived at the front door at the specified time when Mr. and Mrs. Evans had told him that they’d be off doing some shopping so he could be alone with their daughter.

Vernon could still remember the look on her face when he rang the doorbell. Bewilderment, and excitement. She welcomed him into her parent’s home with a quick hug before Vernon took her hand and lead her to the middle of the living room. He got down on one knee and presented the ring.

And that’s when his grand plan of getting the perfect housewife who would always have dinner ready and waiting for him when he came home from work evaporated.

He thought she was just experiencing a bit of shock. After all, it wasn’t every day that a woman gets the opportunity of a lifetime to become Mrs. Dursley. But that blank and uncomprehending look on her face never morphed into joy or happiness or anything. Her eyes didn’t light up. The word ‘yes’ never even graced her lips. She didn’t even have the decency to smile.

Instead, she started yapping at him in the most condescending tone of voice that Vernon had ever heard her use.

She said no.

That woman told him no.

The scene played out over and over in Vernon’s head as his grip on the steering wheel tightened.

How dare she deny him.

How dare she make a fool of him.

How dare she waste all of his efforts.

How dare she, how dare she, how dare she.

Under the cloudless, late afternoon sky Vernon pulled into a gas station. He lolled his head from side to side as he waited for his car to fill up. There was no one else around save for a couple of employees lazing around the station listening to revolting American country music on the radio.

Vernon leaned against his car and tucked his hands into his jean pockets.

He was going to make that woman pay for refusing to marry him. He will have his revenge. One way or another.

* * *

 

 

Miles away from that little back road gas station in the heartland of Great Britain, in the waiting room of a relatively small hospital just on the outskirts of Cokesworth, Mrs. Evans paced back and forth, tugging nervously at her loose strands of hair in between anxious glances at the doors to the ER.

Oh, she tried to go in with her. Mrs. Evans was first and foremost a mother. She stayed by her daughter’s side in those first few agonizing moments when she found her daughter lying on the ground after that horrid man who she’d been dating left. And Mrs. Evans continued to be  with her during the ambulance ride. She held her daughter’s ice cold hand as the paramedics twittered around them, trying to resurrect Petunia Evans.

But when they arrived at the hospital, they were told that they could go no further. They’d just get in the way of the medical professionals and hinder the doctor’s work.

Mrs. Evans had very nearly ripped the receptionist’s head clean off of his shoulders when he told her she couldn’t go, if not for her husband physically holding her back.

Every so often Mrs. Evans whipped her head around to glare at that incredibly rude receptionist. The receptionist in turn shrunk into their seat and made an attempt to hide behind his paperwork.

Mrs. Evans released a small if a bit restrained smirk. If she couldn’t be with her baby girl when she was walking the fine line between life and death, Mrs. Evans was going to make everyone else as uncomfortable as she could.

    On the other side of the room,  Mr. Evans had positioned himself in a chair near the poor, terrified receptionist’s desk so that he could watch the clock and keep an eye on his irked wife.

His right leg jiggled in place, his fingers tapped against the armrests, his eyes were glued to the ticking second hand on the clock. In his head, he counted every second. Every minute. And eventually, every hour.

Mr. Evans let out a long sigh as he reclined in his seat.

This was not how he envisioned spending his Saturday afternoon.

He was supposed come home with his lovely wife to find his happy little girl about to embark on the next phase of her life in the arms of a decent fellow who was already on his way to securing a sound financial future for himself and Petunia.

Turns out that ‘decent’ fellow wasn’t so decent after all.

Mr. Evans stopped drumming his fingers and balled his hand into a fist.

If he never saw that two-faced Vernon Dursley again it would be too soon.

The moment he opened his front door and found his daughter half dead on the ground would forever be burned into Mr. Evans’s memory, and he had no intention of letting the perpetrator of this heinous crime get away.

Mr. Evans swore that he would get justice for his daughter, even if it meant taking things to court.

 

* * *

****

Under blinding white lights and surrounded by medical equipment and machines of all shapes and sizes, lay a deathly pale woman. Her face was locked in an everlasting contortion of pain. A whirlwind of activity swept around her. Nurses and Doctors ran to and fro, barking orders, gathering needed supplies, doing everything they could to stabilize their patient.

The woman barely responded to any of the poking and prodding. An involuntary twitch of the muscles here and there, but not much else.

Her body, as it was clear to everyone, was unresponsive.

And yet, if one were to take a look at her brainwave activity, they’d find that they were off the charts. Something highly unusual in a comatose patient. The activity in the brain was double the usual amount of any human being when it should have been dampened and slow for someone in her state.

It was almost as if she wasn’t in a coma at all despite her unresponsiveness. It was almost as if two entities were occupying the same space… the same mind...

This was a significant cause of concern for the doctors. No one had ever seen anything like it before.

Her condition didn’t seem to be deteriorating, but she didn’t seem to be improving either.

But after hours of work, hours of nurses tearing their hair out, hours of doctors doing everything they could to stabilize their patient, her brainwave activity returned to normal. She took a long, shaky breath much to the relief of the ER doctors.

Petunia Evans retreated.

Dania Møller prevailed.


	2. The Flight of Dreams

On September 15th, Flight 397 from Boston to Paris began its boarding process a good thirty minutes before departure.

Dania Møller, a Danish woman with a head of coffee brown hair and a pair of dull blue eyes, rose from her seat in perfect sync with the other people around her.

She adjusted her grip on her lima-bean green carry on bag and hiked the handle of her purse higher up on her shoulder. She dragged her things through the gate with a secure sense of familiarity as she fell into line with the other passengers.

Six hours down, eight more to go.

Theoretically speaking, her flight from San Francisco to Boston wasn’t half bad. There were no screaming children, no overly loud passengers making ridiculous requests to the staff onboard the plane, and no immediate signs that someone may have been sick.

But the complete and utter lack of sleep the night before and a general inability to fall asleep those six hours in the air over the continental US took its toll. Dania was practically walking down the isles of the Airbus like a zombie who was completely uninterested in brains and would much rather settle down for some piping hot caffeinated tea.

Or decaffeinated tea. Whatever helped Dania sleep.

Dania mumbled something unintelligible to herself as she scanned the countless rows of seating, trying to find the numbered row that matched the one listed on her ticket. When she finally found it, she was relieved to see that the three-seat row was still empty.

She heaved her carry-on up into the overhead compartment and crawled into the window seat. Wordlessly, she started rummaging around in her purse and pulled out her headphones, phone and neck pillow and sunk into the tight, economy class seat.

Dania switched her phone into airplane mode after sending a quick text to her parents letting them know she was on her way, and began listening to some classical music. She tilted her head to the side so that she could stare out the window at the twinkling lights of the airport against the backdrop of the night sky.

Eight more hours and she’ll be touching down in Paris where she’d take a cab to the hotel where her family was waiting for her.

They’d been planning this trip for a solid year now.

She had saved up and taken a week's worth of vacation days, and her parents made arrangements with the three university students under their employment at the family flower shop in Copenhagen so they could take off for five days.

Neither Dania, nor her parents had been to France in years, and the opportunity to play the part of a tourist was something the entire Møller Family was looking forward to. And before Dania had to head back to San Francisco they were planning on taking a train Amsterdam to visit Dania’s aunt for a day as well. They’d part ways at the airport there, and Dania would head back to her tiny apartment in San Francisco that she shared with two other women.

Dania closed her eyes and let her muscles relax as her music washed over her.

Just eight more hours. Eight more hours.

Surprisingly, or perhaps entirely unsurprisingly, Dania fell asleep before the plane even had a chance to take off.

She expected to stay awake at least until one of the flight attendants announced over the intercom that it was now safe to unbuckle and move about the cabin.

But Dania supposed she underestimated just how tired she was and how effective her music was in soothing her mind and cast her thoughts into oblivion.

It was a gentle sleep, one without any dreams.

And perhaps, had Dania’s sleep not been interrupted, she would have woken up a little less than an hour before the plane lands, fully rested and ready to take on the day and the inevitable jet lag like the seasoned traveler that she was.

Nothing prepared her from being ripped out of her sleep by the sound of explosions.

Dania’s heart lurched into her throat before she could even open her eyes. Her hands shot out and grabbed the armrests in a death grip as she pressed herself into her seat to make herself seem as small as possible. Snapping open her eyes, Dania frantically scanned her surroundings.

BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM

The explosions went off one after another in a barrage of noise.

Something touched her arm.

Dania tore her headphones off.

“Hey, are you alright? Do you need some water or something? I can get a flight attendant.”

Dania’s eyes darted to the right. Blood pumped in her ears as she struggled to calm down from her adrenaline high.

A woman was sitting next to her, a very young one that appeared to be just on the cusp between adolescence and adulthood. She had twisted around in her seat so that she was facing Dania, with one hand holding onto the seat in front of her while the other rested on Dania’s forearm.

“You know what,” She said when Dania stayed silent, “I’m gonna call a flight attendant.” and she began rising up from her seat.

“No!” Dania said a little too quickly, ”No I’m fine, you don’t need to call anyone.”

The auburn haired woman shot her a look of disbelief but sat back down nonetheless.

Dania glanced down at the phone in her lap before she shifted around in her seat and picked it up.

“I forgot I had Tchaikovsky’s 1812 Overture on this playlist,” Dania said with a slight laugh as she flipped the phone around and showed the screen to the woman sitting next to her.

The woman tilted her head ever so slightly and furrowed her eyebrows like she couldn’t quite understand why that tidbit of information had anything to do with Dania jumping out of her sleep.

“Tchaikovsky was a Russian composer in the late 1800s. He used military weapons as musical instruments, and I guess I was playing my music too loudly and the cannon fire woke me up.” Dania further explained.

“Cannon fire?” The woman asked, looking a little lost.

“Yes,” Dania answered as she wrapped the aux cord around her headphones before stuffing her headphones and her phone into her purse.

The woman stared at Dania for a moment “Who puts weaponry in classical music?” she asked but before Dania could answer the woman shook her head, “Nevermind, the Russians would. Are you sure you don’t need anything? I got Ibuprofen in my bag, and-”

“I’m fine,” Dania insisted, but the other woman didn’t look convinced. “I don’t think I caught your name,” Dania said in an attempt to distract the other woman.

The woman opened her mouth but whatever she was about to say was cut off by the entire world suddenly start to rattle violently.

The plane rocked from side to side like some sort of amusement park ride. Dania’s hands wrapped themselves around the armrests once again as oxygen masks at every seat fell down.

Dania couldn’t remember much after that. Some bright flashes of light, some screaming, and lots and lots of violent jostles that threw Dania this way and that in her seat.

Then there was a sickening crack and a lightning bolt of pain in her forehead.

Then came the haze. The Proposal. The Breakdown.

And then there was the floor, coming right at her face.

 

* * *

 

“Aaaaahaaahaaaaaaoowww…. Lort….. Alt gør ondt….”

“She’s waking up! Miss. Evans is waking up!”

“Someone call Dr. Benson!”

“....Kan alle bare slukke deres mund sirener…?”

“It sounds like her speech is garbled. Is it from the head injury?”

“Hold on, I can’t hear her well enough.”

“Where is Dr. Benson?!”

“.....Hold kæft alle sammen!”

“She’s speaking gibberish.”

“No no no, listen, she’s speaking phonetically.”

“...For fanden da også vær så stille…...”

“It sounds… almost Scandinavian”

“Does Miss. Evans know any languages other than English?”

“She’s not supposed to.”

 

* * *

 

Dania wasn’t on the plane. She wasn’t falling through the atmosphere. She wasn’t drowning in the stretch of ocean between Greenland and Iceland.

No. She was in a hospital room with outdated equipment, surrounded by doctors with British, or maybe Scottish accents, and a throbbing pain that encompassed the entirety of her brain.

The lights were too blinding. She couldn’t focus properly. She’d start talking to the doctors, and her mind would suddenly go blank and she’d would forget what she was even trying to say.

Occasionally she could register the utterly baffled look on their faces, but she didn’t have the concentration to fully process exactly what was causing the doctors and nurses around her to be so puzzled.

It all felt like she was submerged in a dream.

A dream that was accompanied by the loud beat of the most god awful migraine she ever had the displeasure of having.

The bed beneath her didn’t feel tangible, the tests the hospital staff administered to her didn’t feel real, and the things people asked her were straight up outlandish.

Why was everyone talking about some “Petunia Evans”? Dania had never heard of anyone with that name before outside of fiction. Sure she knew a couple of people with the last name of Evans but never combined with the name of a flower.

Perhaps they were merely talking about the bowl of petunia that sat by the window. Maybe the elderly couple who brought them for her named them Evans. And now everyone was just going along and calling the petunias by the name of Evans.

That’s what Dania thought those first few blurry days after waking up. Until her brain finally made the connection that no, the doctors and nurses were not talking about the bowl of petunias on the window sill.

They were talking about her.

They thought her name was Petunia Evans.

Dania may not have known much about her current situation, where she was or what was going on, but one thing she did know for sure was her own goddamn name.

So she corrected them.

Every time someone called her Petunia, she’d tell them her name was Dania, which prompted a confused:

“Yes, I know your name is Petunia.”

To which Dania would reply “No, my name is Dania. It’s spelled D-A-N-I-A.”

And the response to that is always, “Petunia, you don’t have to spell your name, we know it already.”

“No! My name is not Petunia, it’s Dania! Dania Møller! Listen, just ask my parents when they get here.”

But despite all of her protests, all of her insistence that her name was truly Dania, people kept calling her Petunia.

Why? Dania didn’t have a clue.

And to be frank, it was beginning to grate on her nerves.

It didn’t stop at her name either. It was as if everyone Dania came into contact with was conspiring against her to make her question the series of events that led her to be hospitalized in some nameless hospital in the United Kingdom.

Or perhaps everyone Dania interacted with were delusional and terrible listeners.

They didn’t even believe her about the plane crash. The doctors thought that her mind was creating falsified memories to deal with her traumatic encounter with some guy named Vernon Dursley.

Another name she couldn’t quite recognize. He was clearly someone important, that much Dania could deduce based on how frequently his name came up in conversation amongst the nurses. And someone who probably did something illegal given all of the police officers and lawyers that had come to her little hospital room to collect statements from her.

Dania really wasn’t sure what they were looking for her. She explained to them that she didn’t know who they were talking about and that they should probably talk to someone else, but all they did was nod sagely and promise her that they were going to make sure he will face justice for the damage done to her mind.

It didn’t make any sense whatsoever.

Still doesn’t stop the elderly couple that visits her daily from reassuring her that they will make Dursley pay for what he did.

This was all just so crazy.

Absolutely insane.

Which is why, after a solid week of staring at the same ceiling of her hospital room, Dania decided that she was in a coma. Medically induced or otherwise.

It made sense, weirdly enough. She must have been in critical condition after the sudden loss of altitude before the plane crashed into the Atlantic ocean. She remembered something hitting her head on the way down, that’s for sure.

So all of this? This was just her own personal dream world that her mind had retreated to while she recovered from her injuries in the real world.

Dania didn’t know how long it would take before she woke up in the real world. She hoped it wasn’t too long though, she knew that it was highly probable that her body was deteriorating with every moment she was in this dream world.

But there really wasn’t anything she could do about it. After all, how does one wake themselves up from a coma?

It’s just so much easier to play along with her mind’s creations.

Yes, of course, her name is Petunia Evans.

Yes, of course, she was born and raised in England.

Yes, of course, her parents were that strange British couple.

Yes, of course, it was September of 1977.

Her amiability also seemed to set her doctors at ease. After two weeks of being held for observation, Dania was released with a stringent list of what she could and could not do while recovering at home.

A list that included a ban on her working for a solid six months.

So when Dania’s stand-in-parents hustled her to their home in a very Charles Dickens-inspired English town, they made sure to notified whatever company she was ‘working’ at in London themselves that she would not be able to show up for the next half a year or so.

Dania promptly lost that job since the pre-existing condition of being a woman was a terrible thing for job security. Especially since she wasn’t going to be showing up to work for the next couple of months.

That left Dania firmly confined to one small townhouse for the foreseeable future.

She didn’t do much the first week or so of being ‘home.’ It was still too difficult for her to be outside without feeling like the sun was burning off her retinas. And even when she was inside, she needed to wear sunglasses.

But at the very least she’d managed to regain her ability to concentration more or less on any task. She could organize her thoughts now and she didn’t feel like her train of thought was crashing into a brick wall every other second.

And while she still felt the pull of lightheadedness whenever she walked, at least Dania wasn’t straight up fainting when she stood up anymore.

Dania spent her days cautiously wandering around the Evans household.

She’d spend a few hours each day reading with only a small ambient light and the curtains drawn, and she’d help out with some small chores she was capable of doing. Because Dania was many things, but a freeloader she was not.

She was able to fall into a comfortable routine with Mr. and Mrs. Evans.

She’d be the last to wake up in the morning because apparently jet lag and time zone changes were still a thing in her subconscious. She’d get herself ready for the day, and walk downstairs to find that Mrs. Evans already had breakfast ready and waiting on the table.

Dania would then have an amicable conversation with Mr. Evans about the state of the economy. After that, Mr. Evans would bid Mrs. Evans and her farewell as she left for work leaving Mrs. Evans and Dania to take care of what needed to be taken care of in the house.

Although, it was really Mrs. Evans who was doing all of the heavy lifting. Dania could only get away with doing the dishes or maybe putting the laundry away before Mrs. Evans shooed her back up to her bedroom, insisting that she should take the time to rest her poor injured head.

At around three o’clock every day, a couple of doctors, psychologists, and linguists would stop by for a checkup and run some cognitive, memory, and language proficiency tests.

Dania was a little confused why they seemed to be so focused on the fact that she could speak Danish.

She had told them over and over and over again that her knowledge of the Danish language wasn’t something that she had recently acquired. She’d been speaking it her entire life. It was her first language after all.

But whenever Dania tried to explain that, the professionals studying her linguistic ability never seem to hear her. Or rather, they would ignore her explanation entirely and start coming up with their own theories that she had gained some sort of condition after her incident.

By the fourth in house check-in, Dania had given up trying to convince the Doctors that she wasn’t a walking medical miracle.

Really, she didn’t understand why they all were so giddy about it. Nor did she understand why her unconscious mind wanted English to be her native language over Danish.

Dania’s group of doctors, psychologists and linguists would leave at precisely five o’clock, leaving Dania with plenty of free time afterward in which she would settle down in her room and read some books.

Then Mr. Evans would come home from work, and the whole family would all gather around the dinner table to eat. And Mr. and Mrs. Evans would shuffle into the living room to watch some laughably poor reality TV shows on the small television set that had bunny eared antennas and everything.

All things considered, it wasn’t a bad dream.

No zombie apocalypse, no conveniently placed cliffs to fall off of, no hellish demons bent on dragging her immortal soul into the jaws of Satan himself….

...It could have been worse. Dania had to admit that much.

Her situation could have been so so much worse.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Danish To English Language Key:  
> Lort Alt gør ondt = Shit Everything hurts  
> Kan alle bare slukke deres mund sirener = can everyone just turn off their mouth sirens *Quote from Brooklyn Nine Nine*  
> Hold kæft alle sammen! = Shut up all of you!  
> For fanden da også vær så stille = For fuck’s sake be quiet
> 
> EDIT (2/4/2019): Corrected the Danish phrases. Thank you to thedarksun_writes for all of your help! :D
> 
> IMPORTANT! I do not speak Danish, I am not Danish, nor have I ever visited Denmark. The Danish phrases I used in this chapter are from Google Translate and as we all know Google Translate is not at all reliable. This is more of an experiment to see how well I can write about a character who is Danish and I would appreciate if there are any Danish people or native Danish speakers out there who could help correct any Danish I get wrong or help add authenticity to Dania. 
> 
> This chapter was written while listening to Tchaikovsky’s 1812 Overture.


	3. Down Through the Rabbit Hole

Dania hesitated to point out the fact that there was a nocturnal bird tapping at the window of the Evans family kitchen. She winced as the sharp noise caused a pulse of pain to shoot through her forehead, and she turned her head away.

But her eyes never left the bird.

A moment passed. Then two.

The Barn Owl did not budge. It just sat there, staring at Dania with huge, dilated eyes like it was staring into her very soul. Judging her.

And then very slowly, it lifted one of its feet, and without breaking eye contact, it tapped on the glass once more, causing Dania to visibly flinch.

Needless to say, the Danish woman was not only creeped out but in pain as well.

She waited a full minute to see if the elderly man sitting across the table from her would do or say anything. Mr. Evans did nothing but sip his coffee calmly, and turn the page of the newspaper.

Dania counted down from ten, and then she couldn’t take it anymore.

“Why is there an owl there?” she finally asked, lowering the price of scrambled egg that was skewered on her fork.

“Hm?” Mr. Evans looked away from his reading material. The moment he caught sight of the of the creature of the night sitting outside the window in the broad morning daylight, his face lit up like a bonfire. “Honey! Lily sent us an owl!” he yelled to his wife in the other room.

Mrs. Evans came barreling from the pantry with what must have been at least a dozen canned goods in her arms, which she promptly dumped onto the counter.

“About time! Lily hasn’t sent us anything in months, I was beginning to worry.” She said as she sashayed across the room and opened the window so that the owl could hop into the house. “Quick, give it your plate!”

Mr. Evans grabbed his untouched plate of breakfast food and pushed it towards the massive bird. The bird cocked its head to the side as if trying to determine if the scrambled eggs and bacon were good enough for it to indulge in. After a few beats, it ruffled its feathers and began to peck at the strips of bacon, much to Mrs. Evans delight.

“Oh good, hopefully, that will keep him from flying away before we’re done. Go on then, read the letter before this little fella finishes and takes off!” Mr. Evans said.

Mrs. Evans wrung her hands together before she approached the bird. “We didn’t even get a chance to tell her what happened to Tuni last time.” She commented as she leaned over and started to inspect the owl’s boney legs.

Dania sat there, eyes wider than the Grand Canyon, completely unable to comprehend why on earth were these people being so calm with a wild animal in the house.

Even for her coma induced dreamscape, she would have at least assumed that owls should have been a bird that only came out at night. And they most certainly weren’t supposed to be used as some sort of messenger pigeons.

But then again, Dania’s brain seemed to be convinced that she was a British national living in 1970s England so maybe daytime owls weren’t so far fetched in this false reality.

Still, that didn’t stop Dania from eyeing the owl’s talons warily. They were sharp. Like the end of a candy cane after someone’s been working on it for longer than they should have.

“So, what did Lily send us?” Dania asked, despite not knowing who the hell this Lily was since she’d never been brought up in a conversation before. It was better to play along and figure things out along the way, right? Fake it till you make it and all of that jazz.

Her brain would fill in the details and tell her what part to play eventually.

Mr. Evans put his newspaper down and stared at Dania. “You’re not usually this calm when Lily sends a letter,” he observed.

Dania furrowed her eyebrows in a mild expression of confusion but nonetheless pressed her smiling lips together and shrugged half-heartedly.

The older man tilted his head to the side ever so slightly, but then turned his attention back to his wife. “What does it say, dear?”

Mrs. Evans had coaxed the owl down to the counter where it stuck its leg out. Dania leaned forward and squinted her eyes. It looked like there was some sort of rolled up piece of paper tied to the leg with a bit of twine.

Definitely not something you see every day.

But Mrs. Evans didn’t even seem to register the oddity of the owl and went right on ahead and united the piece of paper, unrolled it and began to read.

Without missing a beat, Mr. Evans picked up the plate of half-eaten breakfast that the bird had been working at, stood up, and pushed the plate over to the bird once more. It promptly picked up where it finished and gulped down the scrambled eggs.

Dania did not comment.

“Ooooh, that’s our little girl! At the top of her class and everything!” Mrs. Evans squealed as she hugged the thick sheet of paper to her chest. “Here, here, read it.” She said handing the letter to her husband after a bout of giggling.

The man took the letter, adjusted his reading glasses and began scanning the sheet of paper. After a few minutes of silence, he slowly nodded his head.

“That’s good,” He said, nodding his head, “It’s good that she’s enjoying her last year at Hogwarts.”

Hogwarts.

Dania blinked.

And the dam broke.

“Seriously? Hogwarts?” She asked with a semi-obscured snort “That’s what we’re going with?”

Mrs. Evans hummed and put her hands on her hips, “I know you don’t like magic, but it’s not going to hurt you to be supportive of your little sister.” she admonished as if she’d given this lecture a million times.

“Oh no, I’m not trying to be unsupportive or anything, but why Hogwarts? It’s not even a real school… Oh wait I get it, She’s a Harry Potter nerd.” Dania said as she reclined in her kitchen chair, “Not that I can blame her though, the books were pretty good. The English version, I mean. The translations never did it justice.”

Mrs. Evans furrowed her eyebrows in confusion, but Mr. Evans looked like he’d just caught a giant Northern Pike in a small, backyard creek.

“Potter? What do you know about a Potter?”

Dania paused. She blinked three times in rapid succession. “What?”

“Do you know anything about Lily’s new boyfriend? Has she been sending you any messages? Is this ‘Harry Potter’ a brother or a cousin of his?” Mr. Evans grilled her, but Dania stopped listening to him when he said ‘new boyfriend.’

“Do you mean... James Potter, by any chance?” Dania tentatively interrupted Mr. Evans’s line of questioning.

“Who else?” he replied before turning back to reread the letter.

And with those two little words, Dania’s world came crashing down for the second time in as many months.

“Fuck.”

* * *

  
  


Dania was in the world of Harry Potter.

And not just any world of Harry Potter, THE world of Harry Potter. Not one of those theme parks with overpriced merchandise, but in the actual universe in which the actual Harry Potter resides in.

Or at least, this was the world her mind has created.

Perhaps a small part of her was excited by the prospect. To live out the fantasies of her middle school self of living in a world brimming with magic. To pet a Unicorn in real life, to throw on the infamous Cloak of Invisibility on herself, to down a bottle of liquid luck and buy a lottery ticket.

But a larger part of her, the one that was screaming bloody murder as tornado sirens blasted in the background, overpowered any feeling of glee and anticipation.

Because for whatever reason Dania was now living in a reality where magic existed, Hogwarts existed, and more importantly Death Eaters existed.

Dania excused herself from the table, leaving a steadily cooling plate of breakfast and two thoroughly confused adults behind. The Danish woman raced out of the kitchen and stormed up the stairs before sprinting down the hallway and locking herself in the bathroom.

She bent over with her hands on her knees as she struggled to catch her breath.

“No, no, no,” She muttered to herself, “No, this is not happening. It cannot be happening.”

But even as she said that Dania was mentally kicking herself.

How could she have been so stupid not to notice all of the clues? The British accents? The whole 70s setting? The fact that a guy named VERNON DURSLEY seemed to be hovering around every conversation she had for some stupid reason that no one wanted to explain to her? The fact that people insisted on calling her Petunia Evans rather than Dania Møller?

Petunia Evans.

Dania felt her muscles seizing up before she forced herself to take several deep breaths as she leaned against a wall and slid down to the floor.

She had replaced a fictional character.

One minute falling out of the sky in a giant ball of fire and then next taking over the life of a fictional character from a children's book series that Dania hadn't read in what, ten years?

This. Should. Not. Be. Happening.

Dania tilted her head back until she was staring at the ocean grey ceiling, and took several deep breaths.

She spread her fingers out wide as she pressed the palms of her hands against the cold marble tiles. She tilted to one side ever so slightly, letting her ear brush up against the soft cotton towel hanging from the towel rack.

It all felt real.

Should it feel that way?

Was she even dreaming at this point?

Dania shook her head.

Putting the whole ‘How is this even remotely possible?’ question aside, What was she supposed to do now?

According to the rest of this world, she was Petunia Evans. The powerless, muggle Petunia. The magic-hating, normal-obsessed Petunia. The same Petunia who was supposed to be Petunia Dursley but because of whatever ripples Dania had caused in this reality, it looked like Petunia was going to remain an Evans for the foreseeable future.

And that wasn’t even touching on the fact that Petunia was one of the most terrible, and hated characters of the Harry Potter franchise.

Granted she wasn’t the absolute worst. That honor rested with the pink toad of Satan.

But with her stereotypical nosey housewife tendencies and her complete disregard for her nephews well being while at the same time spoiling her own son to the point of crafting a being of hatred and laziness, there really weren’t all too many redeemable qualities in Petunia.

And now how did Dania fit into the picture?

There was no way in hell that she was ever going to marry a pig like Vernon Dursley. It wasn’t on the table, it just wasn’t. Dania would rather spend the rest of her life living next to a chicken processing plant rather than get married to that man.

But if Petunia Evans never got married to Vernon Dursley, then Dudley Dursley would never even exist.

And that just opened a whole new can of worms.

Dania never liked any of the Dursleys in the books or the movies, and that included Dudley. But here, in this world, the Dursleys weren’t just characters. They were real people.

Meaning Dudley is- was- will be a real person. That is if he were to be born at all.

No Petunia Dursley meant no Dudley Dursley.

Did Dania even have that right? To deny his existence?

Dudley may not have been among them at that moment, but his life was spelled out in the books. He was supposed to grow up -albeit as a very spoiled brat- with two doting parents, he’d go to school, make friends, make enemies, he’d get a job, get married, have children of his own, have his own life.

Had she killed him off by not being with Vernon?

Dania gritted her teeth, pulled down the towel next to her and buried her face into it like an ostrich burying its face into the sand.

She was not going to subject herself to the torture of living with a man like Dursley. Not now, not ever.

Besides, this was still her dream, right? Dudley didn’t have to exist if it was all just in her head. Who knew if the storyline her mind was weaving together was even going to follow the plot of Harry Potter.

The plot.

How was she going to deal with the plot?

Other than Dania everyone in this reality was a living breathing character born in the mind of J.K Rowling. Were the characters here the same ones Dania had grown up reading about? Was this storyline going to follow the book series or the movies?

Dania only had the chance to interact with Mr. and Mrs. Evans, two characters that barely got any mention at all in the Franchise. She couldn’t tell if the couple downstairs were the same couple that was born in the mind of JK Rowling.

She knew that Lily Evans existed, Magic existed Hogwarts existed, and Owl mail was a thing. And Dania had to assume based off of these four factors that the Wizarding World existed as well.

But was the Lily that wrote the letter to Mr. and Mrs. Evans the same Lily that was going to marry James Potter, start a family with him, and then die before her son even turns two because of magical terrorists? Or did this Lily have an entirely different fate?

Did the Magic in this world follow the same rules and laws that Rowling had laid down? Or if this was all just Dania’s head, did she determine what Magic can and cannot do? Did Witches and Wizards use wands like in the books or could they use a wide variety of different artifacts to channel their magic in this reality?

Was Hogwarts still a castle? Was the Hogwarts Express still the only way for students to get to campus? Did students get sorted into Gryffindor, Slytherin, Hufflepuff, and Ravenclaw or were the different houses named different?

And then there was Owl mail. Dania still hasn't figured out why the Wizarding World didn’t just invent a Floo-like mailbox system that activated with a simple spell and so people would get their deliveries instantly. In all honesty, she was a bit annoyed that her fantasy world didn’t just do that instead of following Rowling’s decision to use owl mail as the primary form of communication for Witches and Wizards.

Dania groaned.

There were too many questions and not enough answers. She needed more information.

For now, Dania would run under the assumption that Rowling’s word was law. Concerning the basic inner workings of the Harry Potter Universe. There was no telling how much the plot had deviated due to her apparently explosive fallout with Vernon Dursley.

Dania had no guarantee that the characters would react the same way with her presence here-

-A thought suddenly invaded the Danish woman’s mind. A horrible, slimy thought that sent involuntary tremors running through her spine.

...If everyone was a character was she a character?

Oh god.

The woman’s shoulders trembled for a moment before a quiet, yet hysterical laugh escaped her lips.

Was there someone out there pulling at her strings? Someone shaping every single situation she found herself in? Was someone dictating every action she took? Every word she had ever said? Every thought she ever had?

Was she nothing but a character for some unseen audience to watch and observe for the sake of entertainment?

Dania’s laugh grew louder and louder until she was rolling around on the bathroom floor with her arms crossed over her chest like a dead pharaoh of Ancient Egypt.

Someone knocked on the door, and Dania’s crazed laughter died in her throat.

“Tuni-deary, are you ok?” Mrs. Evans’s voice filtered through the locked door.

Dania was quiet for a moment before she propped her upper body up with her elbows and twisted herself around so that she was looking at the door.

“I’m fine!” Dania called out, resisting the urge to laugh at her own lie. “I just remembered a funny joke I heard on the Telly!”

* * *

 

A few measly hours later, Dania was rushed to the hospital after coming down with a sudden and unexpected fever of over 39.4 degrees Celsius. She was released the next day once the fever subsided with a whole new batch of medications and strict orders to immediately come back if she felt herself getting worse.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written while listening to ‘Oh Devil’ by Electric Guest.  
> Ok, first up for some housekeeping. I managed to post this chapter on time (and I’m super proud of myself- three chapters of the same story posted in a timely fashion? That’s practically unheard of for me!) But I am currently unsure if I will be able to post next Saturday because I’m looking at the schedule for the week ahead and I can already tell I’m going to be swamped. The rough draft of the next chapter is mostly written already since most of it was originally going to be part of this chapter but as it was approaching the 5,000 word mark I decided to cut it in half, but editing takes a long time and I’m not sure if I’ll be able to do it. If I don’t post next weekend I’ll get you guys an extra long chapter four to make up for it.   
> Other than that, thank you to everyone who took the time to leave a review, they really do mean a lot to me. Reviews are what motivate me to write so if you guys want more of this story, please consider leaving a comment about what you liked and what you didn’t like, or just leave a little smiley face :D   
> See you guys sometime in the near future!  
> ~Lost-In-The-Muse


	4. The Winds of Whispers

By the time October melted into November, everyone in Cokeworth knew about the tragedy that had befallen the Evans family.

The whispers, the rumors, and the casual “Hey, did you hear?” flew about the English town first as a light summer breeze. Then as time marched on, it grew momentum, it grew more powerful, it grew to the strength of Category 5 hurricane winds.

And once Halloween had come and gone, every single dog in the town had unwittingly overheard their owners whisper about the ‘poor sick Evans daughter,’ as they happily nommed on their dinner.

“I heard that her boyfriend attacked her in her own home.”

“I heard that she got her head bashed into the walls after she rejected his proposal!”

“Really? I thought it was because she was cheating on him with his Business Rival.”

“No no no, I’m fairly certain that they had already broken things off, but the boyfriend was still in love with her and lost it when he found out that she was seeing someone else. He didn’t mean to hurt her, he did it out of love. I think it’s a little romantic.”

“That’s not romantic! That’s downright terrifying! I certainly hope that they are pressing charges.”

The stories swirled and whirled about, and with each retelling, the story twisted and morphed into something new.

“I don’t think there’s anything actually wrong with her, we all know what kind of person Petunia is, she must playing things up for all the attention.”

“Maybe. But I’ve seen an ambulance in front of the Evans house so many times in the last month, and there are doctors constantly coming and going. I think it might just be something serious.”

“So she knocked her head up a little bit. I still say it’s all being blown out of proportions.”

The Cokeworth rumor mill churned and churned, with one Petunia Evans in the center of it all.

“The Moore family, you know the ones that live across from the Evans? They invited Mr. and Mrs. Evans over for supper one evening and extended the invitation to their daughter too. And they agreed! Mr. Moore told the entire office the next day that Petunia’s mind is completely gone. The girl was just sitting at the dining room table, staring at nothing and babbling about like a baby.”

“Well you know Mrs. Chapman? The piano teacher who’s a bit too interested in Mrs. William’s husband? Yes, yes the one with the awful haircut. She says that Petunia hit her head and woke up being able to speak fluent Norwegian of all things. You see her brother’s friend has a cousin at University whose flatmate is from Norway. And when Mrs. Chapman heard Petunia speak it sounded a bit like the language that the man spoke.”

“That’s a load of bull. When have you ever heard of someone waking up being able to speak a completely different language? If that were the case, everyone would be bashing in their heads and let me tell you, that is not going to make them any smarter.”

There was no stopping the gossip from flying from one mouth to another. No one could resist wondering, theorizing, and speculating on the mysterious case that is Petunia Evans. And in this particular case, time did not quell the queries, the suspicions, and the juicy rumors.

The more Petunia stayed out of the public eye, the more Mr. and Mrs. Evans covertly ferried her to and from the hospital, the more professional looking people showed up at the Evans household, the more the town hounded for answers to the completely out of the ordinary situation happening on their doorsteps.

Answers that they would never get.

 

* * *

  


“Alright, you two!” Mrs. Evans clapped her hands together loud enough to startle the other two occupants of the house.

Mr. Evans ripped his eyes away from the television, and Dania glanced up from her novel.

“You can’t spend the rest of your lives indoors, just look at how beautiful it is outside!” Mrs. Evans continued, sashaying into the living room and gesturing at the large window.

“Hmmm,” Mr. Evans hummed, turning around in his spot on the couch. He looked up and down the lacey curtains. “Yes, it most certainly is beautiful out.” and then he turned right back around and continued watching his program.

Dania returned to her book without uttering a word.

And Mrs. Evans huffed out in growing irritation. She opened her mouth to shoot her husband with a fiery retort but paused.

She snapped her mouth shut and waltzed down the stairs to the basement without Mr. Evans or Dania even noticing. The living room of the Evans household was silent for a few scant moments, save for the sound emitting from the television.

One of the main character’s in Mr. Evans favorite daytime soap opera crying because her boyfriend cheated on her with her sister who had supposedly died three years prior in a hang glider accident but now leaning against the wall with a tequila in hand  a few paces away watching the main character and the boyfriend trading verbal blows.

As sobs and hiccups wreaked the main character’s frame, she turned to look into her unabashed boyfriend’s eyes. Tears were flowing freely down her cheek as the music intensified.

“H-how could you, Adam?” The main character cried, wrapping her arms around her chest. “After everything we’ve been through together?”

But the boyfriend wasn’t fazed. In fact, his face twisted into a scowl. “After everything, we’ve been through together?” he asked, mocking the main character’s words. “After all of the lies, cold shoulders, the avoiding, and all the other men you’ve seen lately? Yes, I know all about those Tuesday ‘Girls night out’ with Frederick from the pet store. You’re not pulling the wool over my eyes.”

Mr. Evans’s eyes went wide as he leaned forward, wholly engrossed in the storyline.

The main character gasped and overdramatically clutched her heart as if it were causing her physical pain. “Adam, you have it all wrong-”

“ _I_ have it all wrong, Louise? Well, what have I gotten wrong here? Please, explain to me why you’ve been coming home so late every night. Why you have the smell of men's cologne on your shirt. Explain to me why Jane saw you kissing Frederick through his storefront display window?!”

“I never kissed Freddie-”

“Oh, so it’s _Freddie_ now?” The boyfriend interrupted with a snarl.

The main character burst into tears and cried out, “Adam, listen to me! I’m-”

And then the power went out.

“NOOOO! Come on come on come on!” Mr. Evans yelled, furiously pressing buttons on the remote before dashing up behind the television itself to make sure everything was plugged in correctly. “What was Louise going to say? WHAT WAS SHE GOING TO SAY?”

“You know these types of shows are incredibly predictable?” Dania spoke, lowering her sunglasses on her nose as she glared at the darkened lamp she had been using as a reading light.

“So? That doesn’t mean it's not entertaining.” Mr. Evans shot back as he frantically adjusted the bunny antennas.

And suddenly, all motion stopped. Mr. Evans let his hands drop down to his sides, and Dania closed her book.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Two pairs of eyes darted to the partially opened door down the hallway.

“I warned you two that you couldn’t spend your lives indoors,” Mrs. Evans said in a sing-song voice as she emerged from the basement of the house, “Now, instead of wasting precious daylight, how about we all enjoy the break in the cold weather with a nice, relaxing walk down to the park?”

“But-” Mr. Evans started, only to be interrupted with a sudden glare from his wife. He clamped his mouth shut, then sighed deeply. “Alright Honey. Come on Tuni-dear, get your coat on.”

Dania for her part didn’t bother protesting. She merely slid her book onto the coffee table and rose to her feet. “So where are we going?”

“I was thinking about the one that stretches along the river, it may be a bit of a lengthy walk to get there, but exercise is good for the soul.” Mrs. Evans replied and then she paused, “However if you don’t think you can make it that far, we can always make it a quick walk around the neighborhood.” she finished, turning to address her daughter.

“No, I’m feeling better than usual today, I think I can make it.” Dania responded in her odd Scandinavian accent, “I’ll go find my hat and mittens.”

 

* * *

  


Dr. William Benson was practically vibrating with manic energy as he knocked on the door of one of the numerous, identical buildings in a quiet neighborhood close to downtown Cokeworth.

He didn’t need to wait more than a few moments before the lady of the household graciously opened the door and ushered him, and his two assistants in.

And then it was just a simple matter of falling into a routine. Mrs. Evans would offer him some afternoon tea like a proper hostess, Dr. Benson would politely decline, seeing as this was not a recreational visit. Mrs. Evans would then lead Dr. Benson and his entourage into the dining room where his patient Petunia Evans sat ready and waiting at one end of the long mahogany table.

“Good afternoon, Miss. Evans. I hope you’re feeling well today. Are you experiencing any symptoms right now?”

The woman nodded in greeting, as she always did, and then looked down at Dr. Benson’s suitcase.

“I had a massive headache this morning when I woke up, and it took me a couple of hours before I could get out of bed. But after lunch, it got better, though I still needed my sunglasses indoors.” His patient replied in her newly developed Danish accent.

Dr. Benson hummed and made a note to look over Miss Evans’s dosages. “Well, it’s good to hear that there are some improvements. How about we start today off with some memory exercises?”

 

* * *

 

She asked Mr. Evans to drive her to an art supply store one crisp autumn day when the whispers of ice and frost decorated the dying grass outside.

The older man readily agreed, and then a few days later on a chilly Saturday morning she drove her to a tiny, tucked away crafts store in the center of town.

Dania let herself run loose, collecting sketchbooks, writing journals, trace paper, pencils, ballpoint pens, highlighters, markers, erasers, and after a few minutes of consideration she threw in some watercolors and watercolor paper. Just for fun.

When they had returned Dania scurried up to her room, drew the curtains shut, turned on her ambient lights, pulled her sunglasses off and settled herself down at her freshly decluttered desk.

Dania dug into one of the shopping bags she had propped up against her chair and fished out one of the more expensive ballpoint pens as well as one of the blank writing journals.

And she began to write, tackling one of her first questions.

Harry Potter was left on Petunia Dursley’s front door for a reason. There was no one in the family left alive to take him in according to Albus Dumbledore. Did that mean that the couple downstairs -the same couple who affectionately teased each other and spend their evenings quietly reading on the couch together- were going to die at some point in the next four years or so?

No, Dania could not let that happen. She will not let that happen.

Fictional universe or not, they took care of her while she was in the hospital, and then welcomed her into their home without a second thought. Sure they thought that she was their daughter, but Dania certainly didn’t act like how she imagined a twenty-something-year-old Petunia to behave, and they must have noticed that.

At the very least, she owed them for their hospitality and warmth.

What could she remember about the circumstances surrounding the deaths of Harry Potter’s maternal Grandparents?

The answer was not much. Just that they were supposed to die normal muggle deaths.

That was such a cold and indifferent term.

Normal muggle deaths.

What constituted a normal Muggle death? Old age? Cancer? Shooting? Car accident? Natural Disaster?

JK Rowling’s definition of ‘normal muggle deaths’ was so incredibly vague it could literally be anything.

Dania liked to think that she had a full proof plan. That she had accounted and made contingency plans for everything. She had read the Harry Potter books so many time, both in Danish and English, that she had more than enough forewarning to prepare for the upcoming storm.

But she had no idea how they were supposed to die.

All she knew was that sometime between now and 1981, Mr. and Mrs. Evans- the parents of Lily and Petunia Evans- the Grandparents of the famous Boy-Who-Lived, were going to die.

And it was going to be a normal Muggle death.

But that couldn’t be right. Mr. and Mrs. Evans seemed to be like two perfectly healthy adult. In fact, neither of them had even hit the age of 50. Both of them were still in their late 40s.

Dania didn’t want to admit it, but she was utterly shocked to learn that Mr. Evans had only recently celebrated his 48th birthday just ten days before Dania woke up in this world.

He looked so much older than 48. Mrs. Evans too, who was only 47. Both of them were younger than even Dania’s real parents.

She mutely wondered if it was because of all of the stress she’d caused since waking up in their daughter’s body.

But the point still stands. Mr. and Mrs. Evans couldn’t die of old age in such a short amount of time.

And besides, what could cause not one but two people to killed off? Certainly not natural causes.

The Danish woman spun her pen around in her hand and brought it down against the paper to create a T chart. On one side she wrote down possible ways the Evans couple could perish within the next couple of years, and then on the other side, she wrote down what she could do to help them avoid those deaths.

She delegated about half an hour to this problem. Juggling the pros and cons of one solution over another, marking down half-baked thoughts in the margins, and creating diagrams next to each individual paragraph.

Dania glanced over her work and nodded in satisfaction.

Then she flipped to a fresh page and titled it: “Jobs.”

She needed to get a job.

There was no getting around it, Dania couldn’t rely on Mr. and Mrs. Evans forever. And given that there were currently no plans to get married or become a dependent in the future, Dania was going to have to figure out how to get a stable income.

Of course, she did have a BA in Economics so that should at least help her out in the 1970s job market to some extent. She could keep a lookout for jobs in the classified ads in the papers, maybe something as an Accountant or Financial Analyst…

...A beat passed.

Suddenly, Dania dropped her head against the table and forced herself to resist the urge to slam her head against the wooden surface repeatedly.

She had no proof that she’d earned an undergraduate degree. Dania had forgotten entirely that while her mind and consciousness may have transferred over to Petunia, Dania’s credentials hadn’t.

Meaning unless she could somehow figure out how to reverse this whole situation, four arduous years of hard work, sweat, and tears had all been for nothing.

All of that time, all of that energy she had spent studying, studying, and studying until her brain felt like mush. All of that and she had nothing to show for.

Dania wasn’t even sure if Petunia Evans had a higher education. Meaning that her job prospects just got a whole lot narrower, and she probably wasn’t even going to be able to make as much money as she could have.

Besides, Dania knew Petunia had a job as some sort of secretary or clerk. That’s how she met Vernon after all, they worked at the same company.

But Dania’s stint in the hospital and the enormous recovery time her doctors had delegated to her caused her to lose that job. But to be perfectly honest, Dania was relieved that this was the case even though that meant she was left unemployed.

If she’d been able to keep that job, she ran the risk of running into Vernon and given their recent track record together, a meeting between them at this point in time would most likely turn out explosive.

Yes, she was better off losing that job. Even if it meant she was going to have to start pouring through the classified section of the newspaper since the ease of the internet didn’t exist yet.

Dania brainstormed a few ideas for the kind of jobs she could take.

Obviously, clerical work was on the list given that Petunia already had a history with that career. She put ‘barista’ down as well, given that she had experience working in cafes when she was still in Uni. After giving it a couple of moments of thought, Dania added ‘retail’ and ‘waitress’ too.

And then, very hesitantly, Dania wrote ‘taxes’ and circled it. A career in doing other people’s taxes would undoubtedly pay well, she had ample knowledge of the Danish and American tax systems so the system employed by the United Kingdom should be easy to understand, and you didn’t need to have a higher education to get such a job.

Dania inhaled and let out a deep, dog-like sigh, and rubbed her eyes.

She glanced over at the wall clock in her room. It was almost 3 o’clock. One of her psychologists were supposed to stop by today to test her Danish reading comprehension skills.

The Danish woman groaned at the thought and looked back down at her notes for a moment. In one motion, she stood up out of her chair, closed the journal, and slipped it behind her wardrobe for safe keeping.

 

* * *

  


_Buddy, you're a boy, make a big noise_

_Playing in the street, gonna be a big man someday_

_You got mud on your face, you big disgrace_

_Kicking your can all over the place_

Dania sang her heart out as she scrubbed the dish in her hand. She bobbed her head in time with the music as she rinsed the plate off, plopped it onto the drying rack and reached for one of the metal bowls sitting in the sink.

_We will, we will rock you_

_We will, we will rock you_

Today was one of her good days. She woke up with absolutely no problem, her light sensitivity issues weren’t as bad that morning given that it was dark and raining outside and the light inside the house wasn’t bothering her as much as it usually did.

Her headache was mild, and compared to some of the other days it was almost barely noticeable.

So, in an initiative to seize the day and not let her moment of good health go to waste, she volunteered to pick up some extra chores around the house. Mrs. Evans allowed her to do the dusting, and after Dania finished that she moved on to doing the dishes.

And to fuel her happy mood, Dania asked to borrow Mr. Evans’s Cassette Deck, and while he was at work, she set it up in the living room. Now it was going through a playlist of all of the latest hits Mr. Evans had recorded from the radio in his free time.

Dania couldn't help but chuckle a little. She never thought she'd get to experience listening to Queen when they were still a relatively fresh, and newly formed band.

_Buddy, you're a young man, hard man_

_Shouting in the street, gonna take on the world someday_

_You got blood on your face, you big disgrace_

_Waving your banner all over the place_

“Petunia!” Mrs. Evans called out suddenly from the other side of the house.

Dania could hear the sounds of the older woman’s feet pounding on the creaky wooden floors of the stairs before she could even turn the water off.

“Yes?” Dania answered as she wiped her hands on her apron and turned around to meet the excited gaze of Mrs. Evans.

“Oh Tuni-dear, I have some great news!” Mrs. Evans practically squealed as she waved something in her hand.

Dania’s eyes drifted over to Mrs. Evans’s waving appendage. The Dane let a small smile grace her face. “Well? Are you going to tell me, or are you just going to leave me here to wonder?” she said in amusement.

“Look, look! You’re sister just sent us an owl! She’s going to be coming home for the holidays, and she’ll be bringing her new boyfriend too!”

Dania’s mind went completely blank, and she could only stare as Mrs. Evans began waltzing around the kitchen, dancing to the beat of the music holding the letter high in the air for the world to see.

_We will, we will rock you_

_We will, we will rock you_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written while listening to 100 Bad Days by AJR and We Will Rock You by Queen. 
> 
> The song We Will Rock You by Queen is used in a portions of this chapter. Obviously, I do not own the song and I am making no profit off of this fanfiction therefore I am not making a profit off of the use of this song in this fic. 
> 
> Hey everyone, I’m a couple days late with this chapter. But hey this chapter is a little bit longer than the last one by about 500 words so does that count as made up for? Anyway, Next chapter will be up on some time either Saturday or Sunday. I’m not exactly sure when because I am officially out of prewritten material and historically speaking when I run out of prewritten material, updates get super random. But I’m going to try to stick to the schedule that I have managed to establish here. 
> 
> Quick shout out to the amazing thedarksun_writes for helping me out with the Danish back in Chapter 2, I have now corrected the mistakes they pointed out. 
> 
> Thank you everyone who left a comment and see you all next week!  
> ~Lost-In-The-Muse

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer:   
>  I, Lost_In_The_Muse, do not own the rights to the Harry Potter franchise. This is a fan work meant to entertain those who would like to read it. I am not, nor will I ever receive any sort of payment for writing this fanfiction.


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